Swans
by rockpaperscissor
Summary: Post-season 5 finale. One of the good things about family is that when you don't go to them, they come to you.
1. The Ugly Duckling

**_Swans_**_**  
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_A/N: I'm working on my other fics, but meanwhile I couldn't resist__. Hope you like._

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He watches.

He can't hear the silverware clink, can't hear the 'how was your day' and 'what about school' and 'pass me that, will you'. He can't hear the laughter, the affectionate snort, the indignant protest. But the forks move, the mouths shape words and sounds, and he can see it all clearly, plainly, like words on a page.

He can't hear the 'I love you' and the 'I'm glad you're here' and 'I'm glad I'm here too', either. Even if he knew how to read lips, he wouldn't be able to find these words here.

...He sees them anyway.

"Why are you staring?"

He jolts, looks over. "Cas?"

Footsteps. The angel stands close, joins him in watching the family through the window.

A moment passes. Silence.

"I don't understand what you're waiting for," Castiel declares finally, his voice the same strange mixture of serious and sincere and puzzled as always. "You should go inside."

His mouth twitches in an almost smile, now here now gone. "It's not that easy," he says, his voice barely there at all.

"There's a door," Castiel points out, and he's reminded of the times they'd sit on the car and watch the sky and wonder aloud whether Cas is the way he is because he's an angel or because he's _Cas_, or if their friend's just messing with them and jerking their chains because he enjoys sounding obtuse.

Good times, even then. Even with everything.

Hands in pockets. "Yeah."

There's another unheard clink, bowls of ice cream on the table, each one with its own perfect spheres of chocolate and vanilla. The kid dives in with a vengeance, but just as quickly stops in order to protest his hair getting ruffled by a big hand with a simple silver ring. White teeth flash as the woman laughs soundlessly.

Something's off about this, he thinks as he looks closely, but he can't quite figure out what. Maybe it's something to do with the fact that he's not used to watching people without an agenda, without waiting for a knife to flash or for a nursery to catch on fire. Maybe it's something to do with seeing a family sitting around a kitchen table having dinner, because he's not used to that either, never was really, family for him's always been driver and shotgun and backseat and the bed closest to the door, diners for lunch and diners for dinner.

Maybe it's something to do with Dean, how he eats the ice cream slowly, enjoyment lighting up his face, as if that's his favorite dessert when it's not, it's really not. Maybe it's something to do with Dean, because Dean's not wearing Dad's leather jacket or the usual three or four protective layers, just one faded T-shirt that says 'You Do The Yoga, I'll Do The Instructor' over clean jeans that have never seen a laundromat or a rugaru's blood. Maybe it's something to do with Dean, because his feet are bare without socks like he's not planning on leaving the house anytime soon, like he's perfectly comfortable where he is, like there isn't anywhere he has to go.

Maybe it's something to do with Dean, because he's smiling even though Sam's not there.

"He looks happy," he murmurs quietly, heart aching.

"He's not," Castiel replies.

He sounds so sure that Sam frowns, tears his eyes away so he can meet Castiel's... very piercing glower. "How do you know?"

"I know." The angel sounds unforgiving, which is funny since there are so many other things to not forgive Sam for. "And you're making excuses. Stop."

"People change," Sam says, gaze involuntarily straying back to the window. "You did, after all," he says, attempts to make Castiel take this lightly. _Please_, _just take this lightly._ "The last thing I expected was for you to come rescue me and Adam. I can't even imagine how much mojo that must have taken."

There's a shrug, and the faintest traces of a secret, self-satisfied smirk. "There are perks to being sheriff," Cas allows.

Sam doesn't really understand, but he doesn't press, figures it's probably some kind of angel inside joke. "If you say so."

Beat.

"You're missing the point."

So much for distractions. "What point?"

"You shouldn't hold Dean's happiness against him."

He gapes, protests, "I'm not! I'd never - I'd never do that, Cas. I _want_ him to be happy."

Steely blue glare. "Then why won't you enter?"

He falters. "I just don't -" he clears his throat, forces a smile that must look painful. Wishes he could hide. "It's just, I... I don't want to mess it up."

"I assure you, that's the last thing you'd do."

He shrugs, noncommittally. Stares down at the asphalt.

Sigh.

"...He's learned to live without you, Sam. But that does not mean he outgrew you."

It's such a blatant statement of his fears that Sam jerks his head up. "I - "

"You know Dean did this for you," he's interrupted sharply. "He's here because _you _told him to stop fighting. That's the only reason he's not trying to get you back right now."

"I-I know," Sam says lamely. "I know that."

"Then get your face out of your butt," the angel snaps, and Sam remembers that as much as Cas is Cas, he's also a little Dean. "Dean thinks you're in _hell_, Sam. I did not bring you back to stare pathetically at windows."

He laughs breathlessly. "I - I know. I just - I, I'm also a little nervous."

"Ah." Castiel pauses, frowns as if thinking hard. Eventually his face steels, decision made, warrior about to do battle, and he solemnly pats Sam's shoulder, once, twice. "There there."

Sam blinks. "Uh... thank you?"

"You're welcome," the angel intones gravely.

He's not sure how to take that, exactly, so he goes back to watching. Watching's so much easier, so much safer than other things. Many other things.

Lisa gets up and starts clearing the table. Dean and Ben help, Ben after a bit of a nudge from Dean.

So many sounds.

He wishes he could hear them, just for a moment.

"Well. Ready yet?"

Ben and Lisa disappear from sight, dishes in their arms. Dean stays behind, paper towel in hand, and starts scrubbing the table.

Which is weird - bizarre, really, because he's never seen his brother clean anything but the Impala. But as Dean goes after what must be a particularly tough stain, Sam can recognize the familiar wrinkle between the eyes, the pursed mouth, the utterly focused expression. It used to be how Dean would look at him sometimes. As if there was nothing in the world but Sam.

Used to be. Once upon a time.

"Sam?"

And it's weird too, how Sam can just watch invisibly from outside... untouched, unseen, no repercussions. Yeah sure, it's dark out, but - Dean used to know anyway, back then, somehow he always knew when he was being watched. By anyone, not just Sam.

Another change.

He turns away, finds the moon. It takes him a moment to find his voice. "It's just - it's really -" Hard. Torturous. Saying yes to Lucifer was easier. "What if I - what if Dean doesn't -" he stops again, not 't knowing how to finish, but Cas is Cas again, not Dean, he doesn't help him, doesn't say anything. "I just don't know what... I just don't know what comes _next_, Cas," Sam whispers, and his voice doesn't break, it doesn't.

Because he doesn't have a Lisa, he doesn't have a Ben, he's got nothing but hunting, nothing but motels and diners, and how, how ironic would it be if Dean stays and Sam goes back to the road, by himself, _alone _-

"I'm not sure, but I think it's a hug."

Sam blinks, frowns, turns to glance at Cas quizzically, but all Cas does is nod his head at the house. He follows Castiel's gaze...

And freezes.

Dean's looking back at them, looking back at _Sam_, face white as a sheet, green eyes wide, wide like windows.

Eternity. The world is hushed, mute, utterly still - no dishes, no laughter, no heartbeat.

Just them.

...And then suddenly something clicks, so loudly even Sam can hear it. Suddenly Dean just - just _moves_, disappears from view, and even from outside there's the audible thud of a table moving, a chair being carelessly knocked to the floor.

"Go, Sam," Cas says, but it's too late because Sam's already gone, Sam's running.

And the door opens.

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_A/N: I imagine I'm not the only one who was shouting at Sam to stop being a stupidhead at the end of the episode.  
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_Hope you enjoyed!  
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	2. All In A Row

**_Swans_**_**  
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_A/N: So this is from the other side of the window. I'll admit I didn't see this coming - but borgmama1of5__'s fic inspired me and, what can I say, I wanted to give it a try. I will not pretend that this and the previous chapter are anything but the fluffiest pieces of angst I could manage.  
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_So thank you borgmama1of5 - and of course, thank you to everyone who read the first chapter, the response was overwhelming. I hope you enjoy this one as well._

_Warning: Ben and Lisa do show up, and there is no character bashing of anyone. Sorry if that's not your cup of tea.  
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He's not good at pretending.

He used to be, once. Used to crack a grin when he was about to keel over, toss a one-liner when his ribs practically showed. Used to be able to hide pain and work through it effortlessly, used to be able to declare everything was okay even when it was obvious that it wasn't, that it couldn't be.

And now he can't. Almost funny how that works. How now that he's healed and the blood is gone and the bruises disappeared and he can see out of both eyes he can't pretend anymore, can't even try. He can't act like everything is okay. Sam's gone.

Sam's gone, and nothing can be okay.

0000

...He still tries to pretend, at first. Not sure why. For old time's sake, maybe, or maybe just because it's all he knows.

It doesn't take a genius to see through him though, and Lisa's nothing if not a smart woman so she sees, sees him inside and through and opens her arms and presses him close and lets him not be okay on her shoulder. She's tiny, but somehow she still manages to hold him in, hold him up, and there's strength and compassion and understanding and he doesn't get it, has to wonder at this, how someone can give so much to someone they barely know and expect nothing back. It's a selflessness, a kind of ordinary, brilliant sort of selflessness he's not used to.

So he stops trying. He knows, she knows. Truth is, if not for - if not for the promise he made, he wouldn't have ever thought to come here. But since he made it, and since he'd rather die than break it (and rather die than keep it too, but that's a different story), he can appreciate, in a distant sort of way, how this is probably somewhat healthier than drinking the years away or opening another hole in the ground just so he can jump inside, because fuck it all and _fuck_ whatever comes out, he wouldn't have cared. This, this reminds him that there are people out there, good people, and much as he guiltily wishes he could do it, he can't restart the apocalypse just because his brother had to outdo him one more time and save the entire freaking world.

Which, which is a good thing. Remembering that. Important. He can't be selfish.

Yeah.

Also, also. Lisa gives the best fucking hugs. And if it weren't for - the promise, he wouldn't have known. Which would have been a crime, practically, because this is - this is really good. This is really really good.

So, there's... there's that.

The thing about hugs, though - they can't last forever. There's only so long he and Lisa can stand at the doorstep holding each other; eventually arms start to cramp up and moths start to flutter into the house because the door's still open, and he can't do that to Lisa.

And he hates moths.

So he pulls away, but surprisingly enough she doesn't tell him to leave but actually takes his hand and leads him in, settles him tenderly on the sofa before vanishing into the kitchen.

He glances up the flight of stairs and sees it's dark, realizes it's late, that Ben must be sleeping. He'd driven so quickly to get here - he had to, he _promised_ - that he lost all notion of time, and it eats at him even while he's glad for it, because it's nice to fast-forward, drown in numbness, but at the same time it's been hours, _hours_, and time in hell is different, he knows all about how it's _different, _it must have been at least a couple of days already, maybe weeks -

A 'hey', and he blinks his way out of the stupor he was in.

Lisa stands there, glass of milk held uncertainly in her hand.

"I, uh..." her gaze lands everywhere but him. He suddenly realizes she's nervous - and why wouldn't she be, this guy she barely knows just broke down inside her house. "I know I invited you for a beer, but I, um, I thought this might maybe help you sleep better, and alcohol's probably - not - exactly good right now... or ever..."

He stares at her.

Fuck. This - this is -

She bites her lip, forces a smile as she shakes her head, starts to turn away. "Never - never mind, sorry, I'll go get you a -"

"No." His voice is too hoarse, too soft, but she stops. "I -" he hesitates for a second before reaching shakily to take the glass from her grasp. "Thank you."

Her dark eyes widen, as if she sees something she hadn't before, but she nods, quirks a smile, then sits next to him patiently as he drinks milk for the first time since... a while back.

When he finishes, automatically licks the white off his lips, she takes the glass away and puts it on the table, _clink_, then guides his head to her lap and strokes his hair with kind, patient fingers, all while not asking a thing, all while not saying a word.

It's then, at that moment, that Dean wishes for Sam more than ever, that he wishes he could talk to him, that he could hug him - just because he _misses _him so _fucking _much, because this is too normal and non-Winchestery and he has no idea what to do with it, no idea how to protect it without causing it to shatter, and Sam is a Winchester and Sam wouldn't break and Sam is his entire world - _should _be his entire world, except he can't be, anymore.

Because Sam's gone.

And it's also at that same exact moment that Dean wishes for Sam so that he could punch his fucking _lights_ out, because it's the moment that Dean realizes that he can't ever leave, can't ever break this promise to Sam, damn his stupid conniving _bitch _of a brother, because Dean _wants _to keep it, because he _wants _to stay here.

Because he loves Lisa.

A small, desperate noise escapes his throat._ Fuck Sam_, he thinks chokingly. _Fuck fucking Sam_.

"Shhh," Lisa murmurs soothingly, long fingers carding through his hair. It feels perfect. "I'm here, it's okay. I'm here."

And it's not, it's not okay, it won't ever be completely okay.

But she's here, so it's better, at least.

It's better.

Salty tracks sting their way down his face. Dean falls asleep.

0000

He's not a complete idiot - he knows he's messed up, that Lisa and Ben don't deserve to be stuck with someone who's legally dead and insane with loss on top of it. So despite Lisa's overly kind offer of the guest bedroom, the next night Dean holes up in a nearby motel, and the next night and the night after that and the night after that.

He stays around though, fixes things around the house, picks Ben up from school, makes him lunch and most days stays for dinner. He works on getting himself a legit name, becoming someone with a social security number who can get a real job, with benefits (the kinds you don't run out on in the morning), who isn't a somewhat notorious criminal or, you know, technically nonexistent. It's difficult, but some of Lisa's friends from her old town, parents of the kids he and Sam rescued, know ways around the system. Bobby helps him out some too, emails him references and contact numbers and everything, all without Dean ever having to drive to South Dakota or pick up a phone.

Which he appreciates.

It works out. He gets himself a job in an auto shop as Dean Webb. It pays decently, not stellar but there's a chance for a raise and even a promotion if he keeps working like he has, which he plans to. The guys are all right, and eventually maybe he'll take them up on one of their offers of watching the game at their place or going out for beers at the bar after work.

Not that Dean drinks. He wants to, thinks about it every day, every time he drives by a bar or opens the fridge or sees Ben studying or Lisa frowning at him in that _what do you think you're doing _kind of way. He doesn't though, and a bit of it is that Ben and Lisa don't deserve it, but really it's that Sam is in hell and that he's forced Dean to live, so if Sam has to experience every moment like it's eternity, every month like a year, the least Dean can do is live coherently through every fucking second Sam's given him.

...Dean doesn't like to dwell on that thought much though, on time, because the thought of Sam in hell is enough to kill him.

And he. He has to live.

0000

The moment he has enough money, Dean buys a storeroom big enough for the Impala, because it burns every time he drives her, every time he sees the little green army man, every time he looks at the seat next to him, at the person riding next to him, even if it's Ben who he loves. So he washes her for the last time, fixes that little squeak on the door that's been bothering him lately, waxes her until she gleams and his arms hurt, then covers her completely with a white sheet, the largest and most expensive he could find, before turning out the light and closing the door.

He doesn't look back, doesn't miss it even when he drives Lisa's Coupe or sees the newest Impala model out on the street. The Impala was never really Dean's car, anyway, only the home Dad and Sammy would come back to, and now that they're both gone, that Sammy's gone, there just isn't any point.

Dean has a new home now, and it's not a car.

0000

And so it passes.

After six years - or half of one, depending on your method of counting - Dean ditches the motel room for the guest bed in Lisa's house, and actually sleeps there. He and Lisa still haven't done anything except the occasional makeout here and there, which is a bit weird for both of them but they don't push it, both of them afraid to cross the line before they're ready. Which is preposterous just as much as it is a bit of a relief that there's no pressure, because the more Dean knows about Lisa the more he loves her, and she hasn't kicked him out yet so it seems to be more or less mutual.

They don't ever talk about it, of course (they're Dean and Lisa after all), but they have no problem telling Ben they love him - though Dean, admittedly, only says it when Ben falls from a ladder and sprains his ankle, and that one time he cries over Emma Nguyen, and also the day they go to the amusement park and Ben gets ketchup on his nose - and when they do they look at Ben first but then their eyes slide to each other, and it's really the same thing.

Ben, as Dean already knew, is a freaking awesome kid. That first morning, Ben stares at Dean for only a moment before running to hug him the way Sammy used to, way back when he was just a little tyke and Dean just his beanpole of a brother. Then later when he figures out that Dean's kinda-sorta dating his mom, Ben solemnly threatens to chop off Dean's balls and burninate Dean to death if he dares to hurt her, then gives Dean a high five and tells him that sunflowers not roses are the way to go. After that he asks Dean if he wants to listen to his new Black Sabbath CD, which just about cements his place in Dean's heart - not that he wasn't there already.

True, the kid's precocious, and more than a bit of a handful - the arguments they've had about homework and why doing it is a good thing are far too numerous to count - but he's bright and funny and practical and just genuinely _good_, and Dean thinks Sam would have liked him, if they'd met.

_If_. That still gets him.

It's funny, how hearts are capable of so much. How Dean can love Lisa and Ben until he feels like exploding, and yet the hole left by his brother is still this huge gaping wound not even close to healing, even if his life does revolve around other people on the surface. Because Dean still thinks of his brother every day, sometimes big regrets and sometimes just small, everyday stuff, like washing the dishes and thinking of a melody and knowing Sam would have known what it was, wishing he could ask.

Sometimes Dean almost forgets he can't, and that - that hurts more than anything.

0000

Eventually - long past time - he tells Lisa all there is to tell. About that day when Sam saved the world, yes, but also about that time when Sam had a cold and sneezed in the middle of a stakeout, and when Sammy was four and thought clouds were made of marshmallows and cotton candy until Dean told him it was really the stuffing of dead teddy bears , though of course he took it back immediately once the kid started weeping fountains for the fate of stuffed animals everywhere.

He never could handle a crying Sammy.

Eventually Ben asks too, so Dean tells him. Not everything, because it's too much and Ben's too little, but enough so that Ben knows who Sam is - that Sam saved them all, that he liked big salads with a lot of dressing... things like that. The important things.

After that he really gives up on pretending and lets go, talks about Sam when he thinks of Sam - which is all the time, almost, unless he's busy or with his family - with Lisa and Ben, so he tries to limit it to once or twice a day, just a 'Sam once choked on lemonade too' type of deal, unless it's some kind of anniversary, or he's really feeling morose.

He tries not to be, but it still happens.

0000

One Saturday morning in March, when the ground's just started to warm up, Lisa tells him he needs to bury Sam.

He blinks at her, not sure what she means, if she's kicking him out or making a metaphor, but then she gives him a shovel and the car keys and tells him come back in time for dinner.

He closes his eyes - _I don't deserve you -_ throat working, before finally nodding wordlessly.

And Dean goes.

He drives aimlessly for a while, thinking of life and Lisa and Ben, but mostly Sam. Dean's never buried Sam, not even when Sam died, but Sam buried Dean at least once that Dean knows of. He imagines it, having a body to bury, seeing a familiar face disappearing in a pine box under the ground forever, and he wonders whether it's better or worse to be left with nothing, nothing to cry over, nothing to hold on to, nothing to resurrect - to just remember one moment, a peaceful face, his whole world falling and not being able to catch it.

He wonders, and still doesn't know.

He finds a little meadow by a service road with no traffic. He leaves the coupe, takes the shovel and starts digging, the motions old and familiar. And all the more painful for that.

It takes a long time - because he's determined to do this right, six feet deep - and finally he has a rectangular hole in the earth, long enough to fit a giant.

He kneels on the ground and catches his breath, stares at it for a long time.

And then fills it back in.

0000

He visits every weekend. Lisa mentions that it'd be good for him to talk but all he does is sit there against the crappy headstone he'd given Sam and look at the sky. Sometimes he hums some Metallica under his breath, sometimes he just thinks, sometimes the sky's so beautiful it fairly takes his breath away.

He doesn't pretend it's Sam, that Sam's there. Sam's gone.

Still... still.

It helps, a little.

0000

It's a weekend. He comes back in time for dinner, kicks off his shoes and his socks and puts away his jacket, Dad's jacket that he still can't bear to part with for too long even though that's not who he is anymore. Dean Webb might not have a suitcase to his name, but he doesn't wear leather jackets. Only Dean Winchester does, and that guy only shows up on weekends.

He's not Dean Winchester now - he's Dean Webb, automechanic, and he has a hot girl and a cool kid to have dinner with.

So he does.

0000

When they're cleaning up - a family affair, because Lisa hates washing dishes without company and Ben's used to being that company, while Dean just feels guilty not helping - Dean suddenly notices that the streetlamp in front of their house died out.

He automatically glances at the other ones and checks the sky outside, making sure it's not an oncoming blackout. But no, the other lights are fine, and there are no clouds, he can see the moonlight hitting - hitting -

No. It's - it's not -

"Dean? Something wrong?"

That's Cas, he sees the trenchcoat, can recognize it anywhere - but that doesn't matter, not really, because beside him, beside him is - he doesn't know how or why, but he's _not _insane, that's definitely - turning around and looking at him, straight in the eye, that's, that's definitely -

_Definitely _-

Dean's not good at pretending. So when his brother blinks and the spell breaks Dean stops gaping and dashes to the door and throws it open, doesn't even feign that he can say anything but _you're here _and _I missed you _if he can say anything at all, doesn't even act like he's not going to pull his brother close and hug it out in the chickflickiest hug of his life for as long as he can possibly manage. His arms might fall off, but he won't let go until he absolutely has to.

Sam's here, and everything's going to be fine.

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_A/N: And that's the last chapter. Personally, if you want my opinion, the finale was... eh, not sure if I liked it. There are lots of fics on how Dean leaves Lisa behind, and while those are y'know, maybe a tad more realistic than this one, I wanted to try my hand at a fic where Dean actually stays without being a dysfunctional and alcoholic black hole of despair. I'm not a Lisa hater, either - actually I thought she was pretty cool in The Kids Are Alright - so I tried to make her likable again, because the way she was reintroduced did not really do her justice. Either that, or we didn't get to see all the soulbearing conversations they had, or how Dean pined for her longingly after they left... Whatever. I'll just assume, like I usually do, that Show doesn't tell us everything._

_What can I say? I'm an optimist._


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